


Félicité

by temperamental_mistress



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temperamental_mistress/pseuds/temperamental_mistress
Summary: Courfeyrac and his family had very different ideas about the correct way to celebrate one's birthday.





	Félicité

The back room of the café Musain was warm and full of life. Courfeyrac’s glass had not once been empty since his arrival, and the smile never left his face. His birthday was not for another week, but his parents expected him home to celebrate as a de Courfeyrac should–with a respectable gathering of respectable people. The obvious solution had been to celebrate early with his friends that he might have good memories to keep him company as he died a respectable death of respectable boredom. 

Bahorel raised a glass and called for a toast over the chatter, “May you never be a lawyer, my friend!” A chorus of agreement followed and every glass was drained. 

Courfeyrac took Prouvaire by the hand and swept him up into a wobbly waltz, hardly able to keep his feet under him for all his laughter, “I am out of practice. What will the ladies of society say?”

Prouvaire grinned up at him, face flushed with wine, “They will think you a charming law student as respectable as his father!” The poet collapsed into giggles as they careened into a table. 

Grantaire righted the pair before they could fall and sent them back on their way, “Our Courfeyrac? Never!”

Combeferre led a rousing refrain to accompany their clumsy steps, until they were nearly thrown from the café for making such an enormous racket. 

When they came to a halt some minutes later, winded and dizzy, Prouvaire looked to Courfeyrac with mock seriousness, “I pray you will find a dancing partner as agreeable as I among those society ladies.”

“Ah, perhaps I shall, but never one so well-spoken or so bold!” he planted a sloppy kiss on the poet’s lips with all the affection due their friendship. 

And so the night carried on, celebrating as a Courfeyrac should–with a joyful gathering of lively people. The warmth from the wine was nothing compared to the warmth swelling in his heart after so much laughter. To stumble home in the early hours of the morning, arm in arm with his dearest friends, was bliss.


End file.
